One morning, before the mill wheel had fully found its turning song, a miller tied a rope of plaited straw to his donkey’s halter. His son stood beside him with a small bundle under his arm, ready for the journey to the town across the river, where the market bell would ring before noon. The donkey had a gray coat, dusty at the knees, and long ears that tipped forward whenever the boy spoke to him. The road was dry, and the town lay waiting beyond a stone bridge.
At first, the miller and his son walked on either side of the donkey, who stepped slowly and steadily between them with the straw rope hanging loose. They had not gone far when three women, coming back from the well, stopped near a hedge of rosemary. One balanced a jar on her hip and looked first at the donkey, then at the two walkers. “What a curious sight,” she said. “A donkey with no burden, while both of you wear out your shoes.” The miller glanced down at his dusty sandals, and his son looked at the donkey’s broad back. Even after the women had gone on, their words stayed with them.
“Perhaps they are right,” said the miller at last, and he lifted his son up onto the donkey. The boy settled carefully, holding the rope near the halter so it would not trail in the dust. So they went on, with the son riding and the miller walking beside …
6 chapters
